Hanging out at Rod and Gun Club

Cash-strapped Stockton announced this week a sale of some of its property. Sort of a municipal yard sale. The decision startled members of the Stockton Rod and Gun Club.

Michael Fitzgerald

Cash-strapped Stockton announced this week a sale of some of its property. Sort of a municipal yard sale. The decision startled members of the Stockton Rod and Gun Club.

The club owns a clubhouse, perched over the river along Monte Diablo Avenue by Louis Park. But the city owns the land.

Why? Good question. The city owns a staggering 600 properties. In some cases, such as this one, the city doesn't know why it owns what it owns.

Selling the land could doom the Rod and Gun Club. Alarmed, members pleaded for clemency. The property was taken off the list at Tuesday's City Council meeting.

While the reason for the city's ownership is lost in time's tule fog, records make clear that in 1941, when the city leased the land to the club, the area, nowadays all city, was wild Delta, abounding in waterfowl.

The club "agrees to improve the properties for hunting purposes by constructing blinds thereon," says the original 1941 contract. That's "blinds" as in duck blinds.

Records also show the city sold half the land to the port. Years later, the city bought it back. I find this funny. The city bought that land twice, but still can't say why.

Possibly the city planned port development. Just a theory. If they don't know, I don't know.

I visited the club. It's an old-fashioned rustic hunting lodge, walled with pine, comprising a big ballroom, a small bar and several smaller rooms.

Mounted deer and prize fish specimens decorate the walls. So does a jackalope - a species that, according to some members, really exists in Vietnam.

"We still have duck blinds here," said club President Linda Black. "You go hide behind that bamboo, the ducks can't see you."

"Though nobody likes each other," chimed in Dominick Dicce, down the bar.

The club has around 400 family memberships. It costs $200 to join; annual dues are $100. A steal, said retired mechanic Chuck Lawrence, who uses the club's boat ramp.

"This is a safe place for us to fish," said Lawrence. "I can leave the boat in the water here for three days. You don't pay to launch. It's just a good fishing deal."

The fishing pier, fishing derbies, crab feeds, taco Tuesdays, pool and dart tournaments, horseshoes and other goings-on are good for kids, too, members say.

"I like to say this is your grandfather's lodge," said Vice President Dennis Morgan. "Because we really haven't changed much since 1941."

Well, some things have. Archery is no longer conducted in the ballroom. The rifle range is kaput. Fishing remains big. But as Stockton's growth advanced across the countryside and absorbed the club, the lodge became more of a social club.

"It's a comfortable place to come," said Bill Watson.

Jamie Cole: "If you don't have a place to go at Christmas time, you can come here. Dennis will open up and you can have potluck. It's an extended family."

The club helps stranded boaters. They let the Fire Department's water rescue team use the launch. They offer free space to various groups.

It also pays a portion of its proceeds to the city: $12,000 last year, according to one club officer. Modest as this amount may be, it still makes the club a performing asset in a city known for money holes.

The club is full of good people and seems like a good community citizen. Did I mention funny? I asked Rex Whorton, 82, what he was drinking.

"I drink whisky and water with no ice," Whorton snapped. "The reason is I have two nephews, both preachers, who tell me where I'm going there's no ice."

The bar burst into laughter. "There probably ain't going to be no Early Times, either," he added. "But I can't give both of 'em up the same day."